A Health V NEAREST THE DEAREST Till Eve was brought to Adam, he Of nature, angels, and of God. VI THE FOREIGN LAND A woman is a foreign land, Of which, though there he settle young, For once, at Empire's seat, her heart, And certain others, few and fit, Attach them to the Court, and see The Country's best, its accent hit, And partly sound its polity. 387 Coventry Patmore [1823-1896] A HEALTH I FILL this cup to one made up Of loveliness alone, A woman, of her gentle sex The seeming paragon; To whom the better elements Her every tone is music's own, Affections are as thoughts to her, The image of themselves by turns,— The idol of past years! Of her bright face one glance will trace And of her voice in echoing hearts A sound must long remain; When death is nigh my latest sigh I fill this cup to one made up A woman, of her gentle sex The seeming paragon Her health! and would on earth there stood Some more of such a frame, That life might be all poetry, And weariness a name. Edward Coate Pinkney [1802-1828] Our Sister 389 OUR SISTER HER face was very fair to see, It had no roses, but the hue Of lilies lustrous with their dew- Her quiet nature seemed to be Of solemn woods. The rills that beat Went dripping music through her thought. Sweet impulse came to her unsought A sacred meaning in her look. In the great Master's steps went she Yet ah! what precious things lay hid What fancies chaste, and loves, that grew True woman was she day by day Horatio Nelson Powers [1826-1890] FROM LIFE HER thoughts are like a flock of butterflies. She has a merry love of little things, And a bright flutter of speech, whereto she brings A threefold eloquence-voice, hands and eyes. Yet under all a subtle silence lies As a bird's heart is hidden by its wings; And you shall search through many wanderings The fairyland of her realities. She hides herself behind a busy brain A woman, with a child's laugh in her blood; Brian Hooker [1880 THE ROSE OF THE WORLD WHO dreamed that beauty passes like a dream? We and the laboring world are passing by: Bow down, archangels, in your dim abode: Before her wandering feet. William Butler Yeats [1865 Dawn of Womanhood DAWN OF WOMANHOOD THUS will I have the woman of my dream. May any cloud of superstition mar: True to the earth she is, patient and calm. Through centuries, and her maternal arm Will from the steadfast way of life be drawn. Sacred shall be the purport of her days, Yet human; and the passion of the earth Shall be for her adornment and her praise. She is most often joyous, with a mirth That rings true-tempered holy womanhood. Nor sit in pallid lethargy and brood Of harvest, and fulfilment in the grain. Yea, she is wont to labor in the field, Festoons and coronals of the golden yield. Lo, everlastingly in her control, Under the even measure of her breath, Like crested waves the onward centuries roll. Nor to far heaven her spirit wandereth, Nor lifteth she her voice in barren prayer, Nor trembleth at appearances of death. 391 |